Rogues Among Rogues
by Lecherous Fever
Summary: She comes in the night to give him a gift he neither expects nor trusts.


Prompt: Leliana/Nathaniel Howe - giving a gift. [DA Prompt Generator]

Falls between Origins and Awakening. Suggestive; mentions of violence.

* * *

Every chantry in Thedas seemed the same. Lothering's had been razed to the ground – but once inside the warm walls of any other chantry, it might have been the very same place she'd found herself not so long ago. Kirkwall's chantry was much like it – grander, perhaps, and greyer – but it afforded Leliana the same security, the same peace she found in any other. She held the flame to the last of the altar's tall candles and softly blew out the thin lighting taper in her hand.

"You are planning to leave tonight, Leliana," came the even tone from behind her. It wasn't a question.

"I have a personal matter to attend to. It will not take long." Leliana stood, facing the Revered Mother with a slight bow of her head. Quiet as their voices were, they still sounded to her like thunder, echoing in the cavernous hall. She was not going to make this easy for her.

"You agreed to stay with me at all times," Dorothea reprimanded softly. "You are a lay sister. This is how we must be."

"It will not take long," Leliana repeated. "I am still committed, but… there is something I must do."

"And must it be done _now_?"

Dorothea stood before her, arms folded and face full of disapproval. For a moment, Leliana could have been a girl again, and Dorothea might have passed for Lady Cecilie, admonishing her for sullying her best boots in the mud. Disappointment was an effective weapon, and one her former guardian had used often. Leliana swallowed and inched closer, holding her stare.

"I get the feeling that I won't have another chance. So yes, it must be done now."

The plan was to stride fast and quiet over chantry stones, and be out of the door before Dorothea had opportunity to say anything that would detain her. She had almost managed it, had got as far as fingers brushing the door handle when her superior's words stopped her in her tracks.

"Leliana, please tell me this has nothing to do with Marjolaine." She turned her head sharply, met the eyes of the Mother.

"I am _done_ with Marjolaine." The words came forth with more venom than she'd intended, but it afforded her the peace she'd been waiting for. Without another word, she slipped into the night.

* * *

Whatever else one could say about The Hanged Man, it was certainly not a place anyone would expect to find any breed of noble, however great their disgrace. He'd chosen his hideout well. The place stank of the human decay that was common to every city's degenerate meeting-place –unwashed bodies, vomit, pisswater ale, lingering clouds of smoke from Maker-knew-what.

Leliana sauntered in, a strange familiarity in the way that her skirts skimmed the floor and her shoes stuck ever so slightly with each step. It had been years since she'd had cause to enter such a hole. The intervening time had not diminished the thrill, the confidence that came with having a mark and an objective. She had perhaps taken a risk in not armouring herself better, but the daggers strapped to her legs were a quiet comfort, and besides, most men were often more inclined to bend to a vulnerable woman. It was a Marjolaine tactic, she was well aware, but Leliana was not above using any measure that would get the job done tonight.

Even stripped of armour, he could not hide his dignity. She spotted him within seconds. He sat straighter than the others, kept his hair neatly tied, bartender pouring him a fresh drink before his last was depleted. They smelt money on him. The common people may not have known exactly who he was, but they had an uncanny talent for picking out those who did not belong. Leliana took the pointedly empty seat beside him at the corner of the bar, flashing a smile that utterly ignored his silent protest. She ordered her drink and watched him only in her peripheral vision, rolling his eyes and drinking deep. Once served her own half-clean glass of swill, Leliana swivelled on her stool, resting her elbows on the bar. She let her legs rest before her, languidly crossed, covertly trapping him in between her and the wall. He rewarded her bright grin with another hateful glance at her before deigning to speak.

"I've already made myself perfectly clear to your _friends_," he said, voice still managing to stay even and polite through gritted teeth. "I'm not interested."

"My friends?" she questioned, in her best imitation of an outraged Orlesian housewife. "I came here alone! I rather think you have mistaken me for a… a common _whore_!" Leliana shook her head, tsking. "Such rudeness! My mother _told_ me never to come to Kirkwall…"

"I- I apologise, my lady," he sputtered, cheeks turning red. She held her chin aloft, keeping her eyes off him.

"Perhaps you should not be so quick to judge people, _ser_. Surely it is no crime for a woman to wish to spend some time in the company of a handsome man. As I gather, there have been more than a few tonight."

"Again, my lady, I am sorry," he said. "But the only women who pester me of late are those with the intention of robbing me blind for the privilege."

"Is that what you think I am doing? Pestering you?" Leliana raised an eyebrow, amusement creeping into her voice.

"No, I- look," his glass hit the counter with an audible clunk. "I suggest you find yourself alternative company. You wouldn't be so forward if you knew who you were dealing with." The glass met his sour mouth again. "My _lady_."

Leliana moved slowly, deliberately. He bristled at the invasion of space but froze when her cheek stopped scant centimetres from his own, the sideways glance from his slate-grey eyes a threat. Before he registered what was happening, she had her lips at the shell of his ear and a dagger at the inside of his wrist. The woman was a professional; from all angles, it would merely look like they were becoming intimate.

"What makes you think I don't know who you are, Nathaniel?" she asked in the softest of whispers. She slightly but surely increased the pressure of her blade, a warning as eloquent as any his narrowed eyes could force on her. "I'll need you to come with me. I'd just hate to let your secret slip before so many," she continued, eyes glancing left to right and back again to his own. The dagger continued to bite. It would only take one swift movement to draw blood. Grudgingly, Nathaniel stood, carried along by her as she made her quick arrangements with the bartender and shuffled him upstairs. Only once the door was safely shut did she completely drop her flirtatious façade.

Leliana motioned to the bed with her blade, and he sat. She remained leaning against the door, blade still in hand, though no longer directed at him. She said nothing, merely regarded him with bright blue eyes. Nathaniel could not read whatever feeling or intent lay behind them.

"How did you find me?" He asked finally.

"A man with five different names always arouses suspicion, Ser Gregory – or is it Robert today?" Leliana smirked. His eyebrows drew low.

"So it seems you know all of my names." His voice came calmly, with greater composure than his scowl belied. "Might I know yours?"

"You might," she replied. "That depends on how well you like my gift."

Nathaniel kept breathing, carefully regarding her. She was slim, but lithe, he now saw, no doubt well-suited to stealth and shadows. He ignored her open taunt of a 'gift'. This woman had had enough victories over him tonight, and he would not give her another.

"You're Orlesian."

"I am."

"Then is this a… political visitation?" To his surprise, she actually laughed.

"Oh, my dear, no! You are not a piece in the Grand Game, Nathaniel Howe." He bristled at the use of his name, having long learnt to listen for it. "Not yet."

Nathaniel swallowed. If this was no Orlesian manoeuvre, and her gift not a dagger in his heart, then what? He attempted to reach carefully for the knife he kept at his side, disguising it as a folding of his arms.

"Ah-ah-ah. None of that. Place your hands on your knees." Reluctantly, he did so, glaring grey fire at her unreadable face.

"Alright," he sighed. "I give in. What is this – _gift_?"

"Information." She pushed herself off the door and took slow steps toward him. "You may take it or you may leave it, but I only have tonight to give it to you."

"What kind of—"

"I have it on good authority that you plan to visit Amaranthine," she interrupted him. "Your family's former seat, I understand? If so, then you must know that Vigil's Keep now belongs to the Wardens."

"I do," he said sharply. "And – what? You're here to warn me off the idea?"

"Quite the opposite. I wonder, what are your intentions? Collecting some treasured family possessions? Or have you some plan of revenge?"

"What does it matter to you?"

She looked down at him, one arm resting on a tall bedpost.

"I happen to be a close friend of the Warden Commander," she said quietly. "And if she's at Vigil's Keep when you are, you won't have a chance at either."

Nathaniel scoffed. "How exactly is this _not_ warning me off?"

"I know when a man will not be swayed," she murmured, "and I understand your pain. So, allow me to give you your gift. The Warden Commander will shortly be on business that will take her and a number of the remaining Wardens away from Vigil's Keep. If you leave Kirkwall tomorrow, you'll make it there before she returns."

Silence reigned among them for a few long moments, the cries and song from the tavern a distant racket behind the closed door.

"Why are you telling me this?"

Leliana heaved a sigh and crouched, levelling her face with Nathaniel's.

"You asked me my name, Nathaniel," she said softly. Her face was full of sorrow, her watery blue eyes far too close to his own. "It's Leliana."

"Leliana," he whispered. It suited her. He made to brush a few stray red strands away from her face, and didn't miss the split second of surprise that let him turn the position to his advantage. In a short second, Nathaniel had her flipped, her back to the bed beneath him, dagger out of her hand and skittering across the wooden floor.

"_Leliana,_" he repeated in a growl, face close enough that her own name bathed her in beer-soaked breath. "The Orlesian bitch who accompanied the _Hero _of Ferelden herself!" The word 'hero' was spat just as her name was, as if the words were poison on his tongue. "You murdered my father," he said, grey eyes boring into her.

"_We _killed a madman," she corrected him. "You don't know everything about your father."

"And now I never will." His grip tightened and her arms tensed, not fighting back but instinctively bracing for pain.

"You won't hurt me, Nathaniel." Leliana spoke evenly. "I know you won't."

"Why are you so sure?"

"Because children are _not_ their parents."

"Then I take it your mother wasn't a liar and a killer?" Nathaniel sneered.

"She wasn't," Leliana replied softly. She swallowed. "But your father was." He hissed, slamming her bodily into the mattress.

"I won't hear lies from my father's murderer."

"You're right," she quipped, impatient. "You won't hear lies from me. I only came to tell you the truth, and you have it."

"Your _gift_?" he mocked. "Suppose I do take this _information_ and enact some fool plan. There don't tend to be weak Grey Wardens. You see, one rogue to another – I think you're tying up loose ends."

"You can't be serious—"

"Deadly," he answered. "It makes sense. You're too much a coward to kill me yourself. Why not send me to my death and make it look like my own act of defiance? It would only smear more mud on my family's name. You and your Warden Commander would just love that, wouldn't you?"

"Nathaniel," her voice travelled low across the small space between them, a warning. "If I wanted you dead, you would already be dead."

"Then why come here at all? Is this your twisted breed of repentance?"

"Think of it as you will. Men always do."

Nathaniel shook his head impatiently. He held her fast, but she was no twig to bend in the wind. Her limbs would take to light armour, would deal out death like the one-time offer it was. Leliana was right. Had she come with the intention of killing him, he would likely be painted in his own blood already – and besides, a crowded bar was hardly the place to do it, when they'd both been seen. He met her unflinching stare. She had to have carefully planned it that way.

"Supposing, for a moment, that you _have_ told me the truth—"

"I have."

"—If I get there when the Warden Commander is absent—"

"You will. If you leave tomorrow." Nathaniel gritted his teeth, brows furrowing further with each interruption.

"And if I get caught?"

"Don't worry. If I know the Warden Commander, she'll be merciful. Besides," she smiled, "what else have you to lose?"

"You have no reason to help me," Nathaniel snarled. "And I know better than to begin a days-long march right into a trap."

"Please, just trust me," she begged. "One rogue to another."

He pushed off the bed, watching the white impressions left by his hands slowly fading from her arms. He turned in disgust.

"Get out."

* * *

"Are you ready to go with me, Leliana?"

She nodded, red strands falling around her face.

"We will leave at first light." Watching the stars from her window, Leliana could only hope that Nathaniel would do the same. Dorothea inclined her head, offering a sweet smile as she quit the room, closing the door as silently as she could manage.

All chantries were alike. But perhaps the Grand Cathedral would feel much different. Constructed in Ages long past and over two hundred years in the making, it dominated the skyline of Val Royeaux and the landscape of her memories. And soon, Leliana would get to step inside it for the first time.


End file.
